


Take Me Home

by itscloudy



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Basically, Gen, Stanford Era, angst-riddled stanford-era fic, dean bleeds and thinks about stuff
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-02-19
Updated: 2019-02-18
Packaged: 2019-10-31 07:35:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,085
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17845145
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/itscloudy/pseuds/itscloudy
Summary: Fairhope, AlabamaMay 2, 2003NowDean couldn’t remember how long he’d been laying there, in the cool mud and grass. His body felt light as a feather and morning dew twinkled in the gaps of sunlight that passed through the canopy of trees that shielded his body from the slowly oranging sky. The sun was rising, dean thought mindlessly.That seemed like it was the only thing he could do lately.





	Take Me Home

**Author's Note:**

> hiiii this is an out of the blue, unbetaed fic that was born from me thinking abt how dean must have felt when hunting alone while sam was at stanford. im probably never gonna finish this but uhh.. enjoy anyway!

Fairhope, Alabama  
May 2, 2003

Now

Dean couldn’t remember how long he’d been laying there, in the cool mud and grass. His body felt light as a feather and morning dew twinkled in the gaps of sunlight that passed through the canopy of trees that shielded his body from the slowly oranging sky. The sun was rising, dean thought mindlessly. He was too tired to think straight, and he could only move his limbs a little, his fingers softly roaming through wet grass, making their way to his chest. His hand clamped over his amulet that sammy had given him so long ago, and he breathed a small sigh of relief. It was still there at least, and he could still breathe and see and feel, so he wasn’t dead yet. He knows he was hunting something, and he got hurt. He racked his mind for answers, but it seems someone replaced his brain with cotton while he was asleep. He was tired and comfortable, the thick grass beneath his head making a pillow for his sore neck, and the cool breeze tickling his wet body. “Why am i wet?” He suddenly thought, realizing his shirt and pants have been soaked through and his favorite leather jacket was weighing heavy on him. He could now hear a river somewhere above his head, not too far away. “Maybe i fell in the river and hit my head…” He pondered, still trying to think what he could have been hunting.

Dean gave up on stressing his brain trying to remember things he couldn’t recall. Since he wasn’t dead, that means he probably killed the thing before he got tossed into the river. And he managed to drag himself a good way out of the river and onto dry land before he collapsed, so he must be fine. Dad would be coming soon, and he would help him. Dean closed his eyes, a smile ghosting his lips as he thought of his father’s reaction to him laying out here in the middle of nowhere, soaking wet. “Decided to take a dip in the swimming pool after kicking some ass, huh Dean?” He would say jokingly as he knelt down to check dean for serious injuries. Dean would laugh lightly and flash his dad his signature grin and would take his hand to get up, and they would head back to the motel together, his father clapping him on the back and saying “Good job, son. Good job.” 

Except, Dad was hundreds of miles away from him, and wouldn’t be able to find him in this forest, must less the entire city. Dean could be anywhere, and he didn't remember leaving a note for his dad before he set off for the hunt. Not that his dad would have seen it though, the fact that he was on a long hunt with no communication settled as a large rock in Dean’s gut.

Well, he would just have to rescue himself then, he decided. He's done it before, and he’ll do it again. He was just a little woozy and waterlogged, he would be out of here and back to the motel in no time, his memory coming back to him as he stepped into his room. Everything would be just peachy, he reassured himself, and tried to lift himself off the ground. 

But to his surprise, his arms and legs were weaker than he imagined, and a sharp pain stabbed him in his abdomen. He gasped silently and squeeze his eyes shut, trying to fight through the pain invading his body. He slowly realized that his shirt was becoming wet again, sticky and warm this time. He was bleeding, and bleed fast. “How could this happen? What the hell even happened??” His mind panicked. He gingerly lifted his head and used the hand that was clasped around his amulet to asses his stomach. There was a large gash across his skin, steadily pumping out blood, staining his shirt again and beginning to form a small pool underneath him. Now that he noticed, the blades of grass around him were painted with dried blood, probably his too. He could only guess that the monster he was hunting got him good before he ganked it, and being unconscious had slowed the bleeding, but now that he was awake and moving, it had started up again.

He had to calm down, asses his situation, and get help. Dean had no idea how long he’d been out here, or bleeding. He doesn’t know how much more time he has left before he’s too weak to do anything. 

Dean was alone, again.

 

33 Hours Ago

John was gone, off on one of his month long hunts for the thing that killed mom, leaving Dean in a crumbling 2 bedroom motel room with a list of local hunts in the area. John had been leaving him alone more and more lately, becoming more invested in the hunt and less emotional every since Sammy left for Standford. It hurt, but Dean couldn’t blame him. He missed Sam so much every day left his chest aching and his dreams were full of him and sammy back at home, their real home, with mom and dad. He would dream of his happy, perfect life every night, and when he woke up, it only hurt more. 

Dean had been staying in the motel room for about 5 days out, only leaving at night to find something to eat. Without dad or sam, he didn’t have the will to do anything. He felt like nothing without his family. But, he knew John would be pissed at him if he didn’t hunt at least one monster before he got back. “You’re slacking, son.” he would say, “If i can’t trust you to take the responsibility of a hunt alone, how can i trust you to watch my back during hunts?” he would gruffly spit out, aggressively cleaning his guns and not meeting dean’s eyes. Dean would reply with a emotionless “Sorry, sir. It won’t happen again. I’ll focus on the hunt more.” and walk into the bathroom and try not to collapse from the overwhelming feelings overtaking his body. Just like every other time. 

He softly banged his head into the cool bathroom mirror, covered in tiny scratches and fingerprint smudges. As Dean’s eyes unfocused while he was staring at a scratch that lined up exactly with his right eye, he left himself get pulled back even farther into his memories.


End file.
